i sit here staring
at your face
body laying flat
shoulders poking through
your withering shirt
and i cannot forget
the crimes
the bloody hands
now washed clean
by holy wells
there is no romance
in this way
no gandhi in you
yet i'm sleepless
knowing hunger
smelling the thirst
on your lips
twenty six years
from the revolution
now i must believe
that all days
are for change
